Page 10 of Joy to the Girls (She Gets the Girl #2)

The icy Barnwich wind stings at my eyes and tears stream down my cheeks as I move quickly down the sidewalk with my shopping bags, leaving a very confused Alex with Cora and May just seconds after we reunite.

My only words to her were that I’d be right back; there was something I had to do really quick.

Best-case scenario, she probably thinks I need more time to pick out her Christmas gift. Worst case… I don’t even know…

Maybe that I’ve been lying to her for a very long time about something very important?

Fuck, Molly.

The heaviness of the guilt makes this run even harder, makes my lungs burn more as I push through the front doors of the Mistletoe Inn and head up the steps.

I try to push her confused expression out of my mind as I dig in my pocket for our room key, but I come up with my half of our photo strip instead.

My feet slow to a stop in the middle of the holly-red-carpeted hallway as I inspect it. Alex is looking at me like she wants to give me the world, like she trusts me completely, like she has no idea what I’m hiding. It makes me feel even worse.

“No time to stew, Molly,” I say, letting out a long exhale as I shove it back into my pocket. I remind myself that I can’t tell her until I’m absolutely sure anyway, and this call is about to determine that.

I retrieve our room key from my other pocket and quickly unlock the door and shove through. I have barely enough time to rip my jacket off, touch up my mascara, grab my laptop, and launch myself onto the bed.

“Come on, come on…,” I mutter as Mistletoe Inn’s Wi-Fi screams for help connecting.

When the Zoom screen finally comes to life, the King’s College logo appears.

I quickly fix my hair and then my camera turns on, joining a grid of a dozen or so tiny boxes filled with eager-looking faces, as the clock strikes one.

And suddenly, now that I’m actually here sitting in front of all these people, there’s a lump in my throat all over again. It’s painful and unsettling and strangely reminiscent of freshman year in a way I wasn’t expecting.

I drop my clammy hands into my lap and nervously squeeze at my legs off camera. Why did I even want to do this again?

“Well,” a voice with a posh British accent says.

The logo is replaced by a smiling woman in her fifties, wearing red lipstick and a button-down with a pair of thick black glasses tucked into the V.

“Looks like it is time to get started. I’m Professor Daughton, head of the English department here at King’s College. ”

She dives into a spiel about King’s College and the program. What we can expect from our two years there, from campus life to the coursework. I scrawl down the date for the first day of classes on a sticky note, making a mental note to text it to my mom later.

As Professor Daughton talks, I try to picture myself there, studying in the beautiful library plastered on all their brochures, sitting in classes taught by the impressive lineup of professors.

But despite my best efforts, in every scene I find myself alone.

Alone at one of the grand oak tables in the library, alone in a back corner of a classroom, while everyone else chats.

Alone on one of those red double-decker buses, driving through the city.

Alone and missing my girlfriend. Maybe this isn’t going to be for me after all. Maybe I’m just not cut out for an adventure like this.

My heart drops into my stomach as Professor Daughton announces we’re going to take turns introducing ourselves.

There’s a flurry of other staff members who go first, followed by all the students, who are also asked to mention our favorite author.

I try to guess at who I might be able to befriend as I look at each face.

A boy with sandy-brown hair from Southern California.

A girl with a pink buzz cut and an eyebrow ring from the Netherlands. But it’s so hard to tell.

With each person who goes ahead of me, I grow more and more nervous at the prospect of introducing myself to these people. I find myself just repeating what I’m going to say over and over in my head so that I don’t go completely blank when it’s finally my turn.

The only thing that interrupts my spiral is the appearance of a person named Kay, with short brown hair, from a very small village in Italy, saying their favorite author is G.

B. Kalloway . I nearly fall out of my chair.

That was my answer. I have tried so hard to get basically everyone I meet into her work, but she remains criminally obscure and underrated.

My excitement over it somehow manages to quiet my nerves, letting my anxiety loosen around my chest just in time for Professor Daughton to call my name.

“Hi, I’m Molly Parker,” I say, lifting my hand to give a quick wave. “Kay, G. B. Kalloway is my favorite author too. I feel like no one knows about her, and it drives me crazy, because—”

“Because she’s freaking incredible?!” Kay says in a heavy Italian accent, slamming their hands down on their desk and giving the same energy as me right now.

“Yes!” I nod. “Okay, sorry. Sorry. Continuing my introduction.” A few people laugh, and I can’t help but crack a smile too as I finish telling them about myself.

Holy shit. I did it.

The intros continue, and now that I can actually focus, I realize…

these are my people. They geek out over the same stuff as me, and most of them are going for some of the same reasons I am.

On top of getting a top-notch education and loving books, they all seem to want to experience something new before settling into the rest of their lives.

I realize that this isn’t going to be like freshman year at all, because I’m not that Molly anymore.

I’m not the scared eighteen-year-old kid who came to Pitt freshman year.

In these last three years, I’ve become someone who goes for what she wants even when it’s hard. Even without Alex right next to me.

I think maybe this whole time I haven’t told Alex about London, because… honestly, I wasn’t sure if I could follow through with it. And if I told her, deep down I knew it would all become too real. It would become something that I couldn’t just quietly back out of.

But now I know I don’t want to back out of it. I want to live in London next fall. To push myself out of my comfort zone. To keep moving forward, keep progressing , even if I don’t know exactly what my future will hold.

I don’t feel nervous or anxious about going anymore.

Just… excited.

Well, except for one part.

I pull the photo strip back out of my pocket and trace Alex’s face with my thumb.

I know in my bones now that I have to tell her.

Tonight.